


Insignia

by flaides



Category: Kyou Kara Maou!
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Maryoku, Rebellion, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-15
Updated: 2014-12-14
Packaged: 2018-03-01 13:55:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2775521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flaides/pseuds/flaides
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When humans from the other side manage to make it into Shin Makoku, the world is bathed in flames and war. Like hell is Yuuri going to lie down and take it. Heavily ConYuu, dark, fantasy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Insignia

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all!
> 
> I wrote this story because I NEEDED something in Kyo Kara Maoh again. The fandom is pretty dead now, but it's always going on in my head. :)
> 
> Not only did I need something in Kyo Kara Maoh again-- I needed something that was a lot darker, a lot higher fantasy, and a lot more realistic. I've always thought that Kyo Kara Maoh had the potential to be an all-encompassing video game or novel or fantasy series, so I've kinda run with that idea to make this. 
> 
> I sorta just throw you into the world, so apologies for that. 
> 
> Enjoy!

 

 

When the Twice Dark first came from the other side, when they came through the portal and onto Shin Makoku lands, the demons welcomed them. Yuuri was there, barely twenty-two years old, ecstatic that his _maryoku_ had allowed him to open the gate between his worlds. His parents, one of the first to cross, found themselves in a welcoming ceremony that lasted weeks; his father’s dark eyes and hair were so reminiscent of Yuuri’s that his people fell in love with his family immediately. And they continued to come, for years, families and children and bachelors and scientists and teachers. They brought with them technology that Shin Makoku had been nowhere near to developing; medicine, forms of electricity, physics. To Yuuri, the two worlds blended so seamlessly and made so much sense that he quickly became accustomed to the Twice Darks’ presence. His entourage took more time to adjust, but Anissina welcomed the science, Wolfram the paints, and Gwendal the workforce. The Twice Dark came and bolstered the food production, the University’s roster, and helped build houses to sustain the sudden influx of people.

There were things that did not make it across. Forms of metal, for one thing. It simply disappeared or dissolved during the Travel; people would prepare their kitchen equipment, assuming that Shin Makoku would be equipped with outlets for their necessary toasters and blenders. All of it was gone once they entered the world that was not theirs. Watches, as well—they carried over, but the time stopped. The hands on the face of the watches would never move again, even if the wearer Traveled back through the portal and into Japan.

At the time, Yuuri had been reckless. He had pushed himself too hard when pressed to choose between his worlds. When the Council told him that he would eventually be unable to transition between the two, that he would have to choose between his human life and family or his position as Maoh, he refused either and ripped a hole through space and time instead. Or, at least he thought he did something akin to that. He hoped it had been that heroic. He couldn’t remember.

Regardless, he wouldn’t leave Shin Makoku. He wasn’t going to leave his daughter, Wolfram, his home. Like hell was he going to leave Conrad.

The man stood behind him at his desk. He was quiet as usual. In front of Yuuri was Gwendal, seated on a makeshift chair of wood and books. Everything else had been burned.

“Bloodpledge has fallen,” he was saying.

Yuuri’s fist on his desk clenched. He was not afraid; no, he was too old for that now. At twenty-seven, he knew the reality of the world, and he’d gone cynical with the lot of it. The past couple of years had taught him to expect the worst. When the Twice Dark had brought technology, they had brought information that would eventually light Shin Makoku on fire. Once they discovered that maryoku could be _caught_ —could be _harnessed_ —the weapons came. Guns never made it, thank Shinnou for metal failing to pass through. But other things did come. Catalysts with _maryoku_ wrapped inside that could be thrown to level buildings. Weapons forged from Shin Makoku's ores that could be infused with death and wind and earth.

Shouri’s pleas for peace had been met with him being pulled from his throne on the opposite end of the Portal. Exiled. And so people died. Were still dying.

Yuuri realized that Gwendal was waiting for him to speak. He did what he hadn’t done in years—he looked behind him for reassurance from Conrad.

The man’s eyes didn’t betray anything, but Yuuri knew he would be surprised. Still, it was a relief to see the man above him, solid, alive. His hair had grown longer in recent years. Despite their time together, no wrinkles had appeared on the man’s forehead. There were a few crinkles on the sides of his eyes, but from laughter, hopefully. Yuuri found what he was looking for in that quiet gaze, and turned around.

“Then we leave,” he said.

 

* * *

 

 

 

It happened in a blur. Conrad was gone the second Yuuri had spoken. In minutes, what was left of the Royal Guard, some fifty soldiers, surrounded Yuuri with Greta and Wolfram in tow. Conrad had changed into his Commander uniform—even after all these years, the King’s consort-black on Conrad was pleasing to the eyes. He barked orders at his men to start evacuating the royal family, all of the familiar softness in his demeanor gone. The guards obeyed unquestioningly, and Conrad left to secure the rest of the family.

Wolfram held tightly to Greta’s hand, though she was nearing sixteen, now. His grim face held nothing but determination; at his waist was his sword. His golden Bielefield crest sat at his chest. Greta wore her riding clothes, with her tunic slashed in the middle with Maoh black. In their hands they carried a change of clothes, with no black on them, no doubt. If the war had gone this far, black would get them killed.

Yuuri quickly threw a drab cloak over his shoulders, the hood covering his black hair. He pinned it together with a plain broach, tapped at his chest to make sure his necklace was in place as it always was, and nodded to his guards. They enveloped him and they immediately moved.

Once the group left the confines of his study, the clashing from outside became apparent. There were screams; from women or men, Yuuri could not tell. The walls were painted orange from the fires outside. Down the darkened hall they went, the candles and lamps put out long ago, their feet scuffling on the carpet. Yuuri tried to not imagine his men and women dying down there. He felt sick, escaping this way.

At the end of the hall another group of his family stared at him with frightened eyes, a small number of guards standing with them. His father and mother stood safely behind Murata and Shouri. From here, Yuuri could clearly see their black eyes, even in the dark. The two groups merged, and his mother embraced him quickly. He barely had a chance to smell her perfume before she moved to her granddaughter and removed son-in-law. The two women embraced, but the group was ushered away quickly. For a quick second Yuuri caught his brother’s eyes—to him, Shouri still looked more like a king than he ever would.

Or ever _did_ , if this was the end of that.

The guards silently led the family down countless hallways before finally descending through darkened stairways. The man at the front, his gleaming cufflinks marking him a captain, lifted a torch from a wall sconce and lit it aflame with _maryoku_. In an instant light bounced off the walls and illuminated the faces of his family. No tears were being shed. They were running, not dying.

Yuuri was painfully aware that he was at the center of the group as they made their way to the bottom landing of the castle. They eventually entered a cavern that had not seen use in centuries; a small sublet of a river had traced its way underneath the castle years ago, but had remained mostly unused. Small boats awaited the party, tied to the docks. Josak stood to greet them with packs in his hands, his hair pinned back.

The guards spread out in formation and Yuuri stepped forward, cupping Josak’s hand as they met. It was still strange that the man looked at him with nothing but respect now.

“They’ll take you to camp. It’s about a day’s ride, but it’s hard traveling.”

Yuuri looked at him strangely. Something in the man’s voice was odd.

“You’re coming with us, right?” he asked.

Josak hesitated, then shook his head. With a slight jovial tone, he said, “I would, your Majesty, but someone has to stay behind. Someone has to get people out. And it can’t be a royal someone.”

A disgustingly selfish part of Yuuri was beyond relieved that he had decreed Conrad his consort years ago. Though wearing black could kill him on the battlefield, wearing it now protected him from his duties as Commander. No doubt the man would stay behind if it weren’t for the clothes that marked him royal now, by proxy.

Yuuri could not afford to cry at the idea of Josak staying behind. He feared for him, but he trusted him more than anyone else in his army, Conrad aside—if anyone could get people out of the castle, it would be him. Satisfied, he turned away from the man and towards his mother and daughter. With a hand he beckoned them over and they made their way into the first boat.

Silently, the Royal Guards divided into two groups. One group made their way into the boat with the women, then Shouri and Yuuri’s father joined them. Murata and the other guards were beginning to fill the second boat when the cavern’s door swung open with a crack.

Conrad strode in, a black cape billowing behind him, with three Blackguards on his heels. Despite the name, they were dressed in greys, a slash of silver down the backs of their tunics. The other ninety-seven Blackguards had died weeks ago during the first siege of the castle. Despite their elite training, they had been cut down like spring grass with the new weapon the Twice Black had constructed from harnessed _maryoku_. Training did nothing in the face of an unknown weapon.

Yuuri let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. Though he would receive no comfort from his lover now—his face was all hard lines and duty—it was infinitely pleasing to see him alive and well. People died left and right in situations like this, and without Yuuri and his maryoku there to protect Conrad, an arrow or an assassin could have easily sliced open his throat.

Conrad waved his hand in an order and the three Blackguards cantered forward to join Yuuri. Not many things concerning killing frightened Yuuri anymore, but the Blackguards were trained for nothing but that purpose. Every movement spoke of death. Necessary as they were against assassins and skilled killers, they were a sad and terrifying reminder of what the Kingdom had become. It was even more terrifying that Conrad had been the one to train them.

They reached Yuuri and helped him into his boat. The remaining Royal Guards would not be coming with them—less bodies, faster boat. The captain who had lit the torch in the hall did come forward, though, and joined them. Looking forward, Yuuri saw the two other boats holding his family be let loose from the docks. They were in separate boats to increase the chances of Yuuri’s survival should the escape party be ambushed.

Yuuri moved away from the boat’s edge to make room for Conrad, then noticed that the man had not moved from the platform. His heart dropped from his ribcage and into his stomach.

“You said—“

“I will be right behind you. I am not going to die here.”

Conrad moved forward and grasped Yuuri’s arm so tightly that it throbbed in pain. Yuuri grabbed Conrad’s wrist, feeling the first tears well up. It was unfair, it was all _unfair_ , and just like that he was _sixteen again_ —

He noticed for a sickening moment that Conrad was still dressed in black, and he wasn’t carrying any extra clothes. In fact, he was in nothing _but_ black. Yuuri stared at him. He was going to act as a decoy, no doubt. Give them time. Allow the other soldiers to live and protect the Maoh’s family.

A war raged inside of Yuuri for a split second—he was going to scream at Conrad, command him into the boat, and untie the rope himself. But he was the last Maoh—if he died, he didn’t know what would happen to Shinnou or the Maoh’s soul. He didn’t know what would happen to the hundreds of thousands of demons being captured and imprisoned by the Twice Dark.

He let go of Conrad’s wrist just as the man let go of his arm.

Conrad untied the rope and pulled his hood over his head. Yuuri would be able to pick out his shape blindfolded in a crowd, but from a distance, the black cloak would hide Conrad’s size and may pass him as the Maoh. One of the Blackguards took the seat Yuuri had left open for Conrad, and pulled his blade out. The one at the front, a woman, yanked a bow and quiver from underneath the boat’s seat and quickly notched one. Once the current took them, they would be out in the open in seconds. They had to be prepared. 

Yuuri lifted his hood higher and tightened his cloak, then turned to look at the dock. Josak and Conrad watched as the boat left for a split second, then quickly turned and left, the cavern door slamming the last thing Yuuri heard before the river took them.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The group of three boats emerged into the main river just as the rain began. With it being so late at night, the battles at the shore were nearly swallowed by darkness. Yuuri saw flashes of steel and small bursts of _maryoku_ , but mostly heard the battle as the river pulled them South.

Every guard in the boats had pulled their hoods up. In moments, Yuuri’s family was indistinguishable from the other hooded figures. His boat, though it left the dock last, surged forward in between the other two. The female Blackguard stood for a moment, her bow lashing out to aim, and two men fell from the banks. Arrows that would have otherwise hit Murata’s soldiers veered off course from the dead men’s fall.

For a moment Yuuri wanted to summon his water, but the light it produced around his body would be a death sentence. Instead he watched the banks, helpless, looking to see if he could help in stopping an attack if he caught it early enough. Almost six hundred feet away was the first bend in the river—it looked liked the battle nearly ended at that point. If they made it that far, chances were they would make it to safety.

Yuuri watched as the bend inched closer and closer by the second, and he looked to his sides to make sure his family was well. Wolfram had Greta beneath his arms, and it looked as if he was itching to call fire. Murata’s eyes were not visible from the glare on his glasses, but he was tense. Yuuri was lucky he had looked over to Murata—the boy’s eyes flashed as he looked upwards quickly, and Yuuri had the proper state of mind to bring his hand up to guard from whatever Murata had seen.

A thin _maryoku_ infused blade slashed across his palm where his neck had been moments before. In mere seconds the Blackguard woman turned, but she could do nothing with her bow in such close quarters. The man at Yuuri’s right—the Royal Guard Captain— had attempted to kill him. The Captain retreated to regain his composure; Yuuri yelped at the sudden pain in his hand, and clenched his other hand over the wound to stop it from bleeding out. Another flash of light and the other Blackguard to his left lunged forward, sword in hand, reaching for the assassin’s hamstring. At the last moment the Captain dodged, but the Blackguard had planned for it—he veered left to swipe up at the man’s stomach. It met with cold steel, but knocked the man off his balance.

Yuuri felt the rage well up—he could feel the Maoh at his fingertips. He hadn’t been able to successfully call him forward since he had opened the Portal—but he could feel him now, right out of reach. He called simple _maryoku_ instead, not chancing it, forcing the falling rain into the man’s eyes to blind his vision. A second flash, and fire burned in Yuuri’s eyes. Wolfram had sent a fireball straight into the assassin’s face.

The man caught his balance, clawed at his face, and threw himself into the river. His body was quickly riddled with arrows from the female Blackguard’s bow.

The fire had done the job, but it was a beacon to the soldiers on the banks. Arrows were flying towards the boats in droves, but Wolfram summoned an arc of powerful fire that stopped them mid-flight.

Yuuri let go of his hand, the accumulated blood dripping to the boat’s hull, but he ignored it and pulled water from the river, forcing it to his will, reaching it up and over the boat. It reached up in a wall, higher than the banks, and he pulled it over the three boats. His arms continued the arcing motion over his head to keep the current flowing; if it was fast enough, it would stop arrows and _maryoku_ from coming through. The two remaining Blackguards stopped for a second to stare at the wave of continuous water, but in moments they were restocking and grabbing weapons. Yuuri ignored the splatters of blood on his face as his hands moved in the direction of the wave above him. He wouldn’t be able to keep the water there long, but the bend was coming.

At one point, he had been a formidable _maryoku_ user, able to call up tremendous amounts of water without having to cry out his contract with the element—but the Portal incident had left him Maoh-less and weakened. Every second he kept the wall up strained him, and he saw flickers of shadow and unconsciousness from the corners of his eyes.

He heard a warning shout, and suddenly the water above him shimmered, dissipated. He felt pain shoot up his arms as the connection to the water left him painfully— _lightning_. It dissipated the wave in seconds, and he could see the lightning _maryoku_ user from the banks with the milliseconds of light left behind. He was truly just a fire contractor, but to be able to call flames forward in the form of lighting—it was a rare gift. Yuuri had only met one other person who could do so.

Yuuri slumped forward, the pain lancing through his hand and arms too much to handle, and the two Blackguards leaped in front of him. Their arrows flew but the lightning wielder moved fast enough to get out of the trajectories. An arm lifted, the charged air crackling at the beginning of a lightning summons, and Yuuri felt the hair on the back of his neck rise—but a number of shadows ran from the banks and flanked the lightning wielder.

Chunks of earth shot out from the banks and raced towards the wielder’s body, the ground beneath his feet sinking and trapping him at the same time. Sharpened points of rock and gravel punctured his armor; there was a spray of blood, then the ground lifted and shot the body into the river hundreds of yards away. Yuuri knew of only one man that could command earth so effortlessly.

The shadows ran towards the boats, leaped, and fell unceremoniously into Murata’s and Wolfram’s boat. Sure enough, Gwendal appeared from beneath his cloak. Günter was beside him, as well as Cecilie and Josak. The remaining figures were a number of Royal Guards, Gisela, and—yes, the last one was blessedly Conrad.

Yuuri remembered why his hand felt like it was afire—he looked down and saw how much blood he had lost. In a sickening rush, he realized that the cut had actually made its way across his wrist—a dark, bloody line started from his mid-palm to an inch above his artery. He clamped his hand tighter on the wound, felt the blood gush up between his fingers. A deadly wound, but one that would not likely kill him with Gisela here. The Blackguards were on him in a heartbeat, crying out for healing _maryoku_. He heard Conrad screaming orders, felt his boat toss in the water as bodies moved frantically around. He wanted to signal that he was alive, to show the rest of the group that he’d make it despite the coming—of—despite the bleeding—but he had used too much _maryoku_. He let darkness come over him.

 

* * *

 

 

 

Greta leaned over Yuuri’s sleeping form. Her father was surely sleeping, but his brow was furrowed in pain. The cut had been deep, Gisela said, with tendons snapped and torn; it would take some time for Yuuri to regain feeling in his hand again, and it would not likely return to full capacity despite healing. Thank Shinnou it had been his left hand.

She sat back against the boat’s side and put her hands in her lap. Her pants were ripped at the midseams on her thighs from the escape. They had all had to jump out and pull the boats to safety among the rocks in order to escape prying eyes from passing enemy boats throughout the night.

It had been near dawn when they had finally broke free from the battle. Greta had seen wars before; she could remember all too well the smoke and death of the camps that had raided her Kingdom before her mother had been killed. As far as battles went, this one had been rather small. There had been maybe two hundred soldiers, with half as many _maryoku_ users. Despite the size, they were lucky to have gotten out with so few wounds. Wolfram had burned his arm by wielding fire too quickly, but as a result no one had had an arrow pierce through flesh. Two guards had fallen from the lightning. The rest had suffered minor cuts.

She watched her father’s face for any sign of intense pain. There was no sweating or fever, which was a good sign. His pulse was normal. She had been paying attention to Gisela’s lessons, at least.

Gisela’s hand touched her shoulder, and Greta looked up at the woman. She looked as tired as she probably felt. In her hands were bandages and a glass jar of salve. Greta nodded to her and moved back to make room for the healer. The woman began expertly unwrapping the Maoh’s hand, dabbing away old blood with the cuff of her sleeve. Greta watched her work. The herb and mint smell of the salve met her in a rush of medicalized stench. She watched as Yuuri’s wound was revealed; deeper than she thought. His hand was an angry red, the slash across his palm and wrist so darkened that it was a near black. She was glad Yuuri was out cold, or—

Yuuri hissed and Greta cursed. Pulling at the wound to clean it had woken him. His eyes found hers first, dark and covered with pain.

“It will only be a few moments, your Majesty,” Gisela murmured.

She quickly dropped her hands close to the wound, the healing _maryoku_ sealing the flesh. Gisela watched, always enraptured by the glow of the magic, the skin stitching itself back together. Gisela would have to repeat the same procedure in a few hours. _Maryoku_ would speed healing, but it wouldn’t produce a miracle. The wound would no doubt seep with blood in an hour’s time.

Across the river Greta heard boots stamp on another boat. She looked up in time to see Conrad coming over via the built-in planks that were attached to each boat’s side. He walked from Wolfram’s boat to Yuuri’s, blankets in hand.

“Conrad,” she said pleasantly. Though he wasn’t her father, she cared for him deeply and loved him as blood. Growing up, he had been the ever-present arms to pick her up and play with her when Yuuri or Wolfram had been too busy. Or worse, when Yuuri had been gone months at a time. She supposed, in a way, she and Conrad had been each other’s connection to Yuuri when he was gone. Regardless, the man was pleasant and loyal and family. It delighted her to see them together, despite the tumultuous years that had erupted from her two father’s cancelled engagement.

Conrad smiled at her, tense, but the strain from the escape had seemed to slip away from his shoulders. They had made it alive, albeit trussed around.

He made his way across the planks and into Yuuri’s boat, and it was only then that he realized Yuuri had awakened—his black eyes looked across to Conrad, and flitted to Greta.

“I tried—“ he said, “to let you know I’d be fine, before I passed out.”

Greta nodded, a smile on her lips. This was just like her father. In all honesty, it would have helped if Yuuri had stayed awake a moment longer to insure that he was all right. Any amount of _maryoku_ was difficult for him now, let alone in the massive quantities he’d expended to protect them from arrows. He had a habit of using it regardless. And Conrad, normally so still and calm and dutiful in moments like the night before, always seemed to panic a little when Yuuri slipped under, despite it being a common occurrence. The fact that Greta could see Conrad slightly panicking always meant it was worse inside the man’s head. He rarely let his emotions show in times like that. Regardless, she didn’t doubt that Josak’s habit of covering Conrad’s back when Yuuri went down was a tactic to alleviate the rising panic in Conrad’s sword performance.

Yuuri started struggling to sit up, but before Greta could help him, Conrad rushed forward and helped lift him from the armpits. He lifted Yuuri straight up against the headboard, and Yuuri collapsed—no, sank—into Conrad’s chest for a moment. His hands came up and grasped the man’s arms, holding on. Greta looked at her hands.

When she looked back up, Conrad was pushing Yuuri’s hair from his eyes and moving away, the blankets spread over Yuuri’s form. They would do little to stop the rain from coming through, but it was something.

The man made to sit next to Greta, but Yuuri’s hand whipped out and grabbed his sleeves. Conrad was still wearing his Consort blacks. Suicide, that was.

“You said you were going to be in that boat when we left.” Yuuri’s voice had dropped dangerously deep.

“I did. Plans changed, and I had to make sure-“

“In the boat. You said _in the boat with us_.”

Conrad hesitated, then touched Yuuri’s hand on his sleeve. His eyes were calm, but he was tense.

“I knew something was wrong with the guards. We’d only caught wind of assassination hours before you left. I thought I was staying behind to quell it. Turns out I was wrong. That cut is because of me.”

His words were clipped, and he was agitated, but he was trying best not to argue in front of the others. His tone brooked no argument, but Yuuri was the Maoh.

“Don’t say that old shit to me, that it’s your fault—“ he looked around, just now realizing that the three Blackguards, Conrad’s subordinates, were pointedly looking away from the two of them. Something in the water seemed to be very interesting. “…Don’t do it again,” he finished.

Conrad looked at him gratefully, his hand clenching on Yuuri’s a smidge more. “Your Majesty,” he acquiesced.

It was odd to hear it from Conrad’s lips, but Greta supposed she would have to get used to the formal title again. The family would not be alone, in privacy and away from the eyes and ears of guards, for years to come.

Yuuri let out something under his breath, but he let it stand. Conrad finally relaxed on the bench next to Greta, his eyes finally catching sight of Yuuri’s bandaged hand. He didn’t say a word. The tightening of eyes, the clenching of a fist, the silent rage pouring off of him in waves—these were far more tangible than words.

“Klara,” Yuuri said, surprising the lot of them. “That’s your name, right?”

The female Blackguard looked up at her name, uncertain. She had obviously not guessed that the Maoh knew her by name. When she couldn’t think of what to say, she looked at her Commander for a split second. His face betrayed nothing. When it came down to it, there was no one above the Commander aside from the Maoh, and that was who was talking to her now.

She looked at the young man and nodded once, tersely, saying, “Yes. Klara von Black, Your Majesty.”

She had left her family name long ago, when the Commander first recruited her into the Blackguards. She wore the name with pride. Here before her was the young Maoh who had saved her burning village and her family and her dying mother when she was barely eleven; here was the young Maoh who did not flinch when he learned of her mixed heritage. For the first time today, she had seen her Commander and the Maoh interact in private, and she began to believe that perhaps the Double Black truly did love a halfbreed. If it were true, she would wear black till the day she died.

Yuuri smiled at her, realizing for a moment just how young she was. Barely twenty, it seemed. Not much younger than he. Considering they would age at the same rate, she was most likely mentally his age, as well. He looked to the two young men in black garb beside her. They were older, one of them slightly taller than Klara.

“Diedrich, and Franz. Right?”

The names had gotten a lot easier to say after all the years of practicing his Kingdom’s tongue. He spoke them now with unhalting R’s, barely any accent on his consonants. Japanese, though the language he dreamed in, seemed to fade ever more into the background as he aged here.

The two Blackguards nodded to him, saying nothing. But their faces betrayed surprise. Diedrich, the taller of the two, moved to quickly give a royal salute to the Maoh, his right hand carrying up to his face with his index and middle finger on his brow—but Franz’s hand shot out and caught the man’s wrist, shaking his head.

“Good catch,” Conrad said. “Not in the open like this, Diedrich.” His voice was not angry, but he was definitely serious.

Diedrich, sufficiently reprimanded, brought his arm down quickly. Yuuri had a feeling that he’d simply surprised the man, and he’d offered a salute without thinking. Plus, he was probably sleep deprived. The siege had lasted weeks. Not to mention…

“You lost your family this past month,” he said. And they had. The Blackguards took Black as the family name, lived together, trained together, breathed together. They had nearly been wiped out, and the three in front of him were a dying breed.

“I thank you. The Kingdom thanks you. And I…” Yuuri stopped himself. He had trained himself to stop saying sorry years ago, but it still bubbled up from time to time. He knew he should not petty their sacrifices with an apology, but it was damned hard to stop. He had to finish his sentence somehow. “You’re truly Blackguards.”

It probably wasn’t much coming from him; he could handle a sword now, but not as gracefully and purposefully as the three soldiers in front of him. They were probably sick of being awed at anyway, with all the stares they received while in the company of civilians. The grey tight-fitting suits they wore with the silver spinal stripe down their back did wonders for their reputation, but it hid the deadliness underneath. Regardless, it seemed the right thing to say. The three visibly relaxed and nodded, appearing thankful. Yuuri nodded at them, and turned his attention to Conrad. In situations like this, he was the Commander of his army, or what was left of it.

“Assassins are one thing. A direct attack on the castle is another. How long were we expecting to have? A few months? And we ended up having three days?”

They knew the Twice Dark had been keeping their eyes on the castle; if they could take it, remove what was left of the Old Kingdom, they’d have their hands on Bloodpledge and be iconic rulers of what was left in Shin Makoku. It was only a matter of time before they branched to Dai Shimaron and other surrounding countries. But the technology they had couldn’t have possibly wiped out so many people on their way to the throne; the last reports said they could harness _maryoku_ , could use wielders as vessels to power the strange machines they’d created from what ore they could find in the earth. But this couldn’t be enough to ransack the city.

Conrad grimaced, opened his mouth to speak, but stopped when he noticed Josak was making his way over the planks to the boat. The rogue crouched and came eye level with the two of them and scoffed.

“Three days is being generous. We had less than fifty hours before they rushed the walls. We think they’ve—“, he stopped. “Commander?”

Conrad took over, his voice grim. “They’ve figured out how to use _maryoku_. Not use, like they have been. But wield it. Make contracts with it, it seems.”

It was silent as Yuuri let that sink in. They shouldn’t have been able to do it—the Twice Dark… no, the Japanese, the Europeans, the Americans—Yuuri still had a hard time considering them anything else. They had more human blood than demon blood at this point, despite the fact that they had common ancestors. Living on Earth had changed that too drastically. It wouldn’t make sense for them to be able to create contracts with elements and—

But it would explain a lot of things. The lightning user, for one. He hadn’t seen one in years. And the fact that they had built their armies from the ground up, without having the metal from Earth making it over to forge weapons—it was a terrifying thought, but it seemed sound.

“They’re _maryoku_ users, then. But they’ve had way less time to master it, right? That means we’ve at least got a chance to fight back. Josak,” Yuuri looked at the man crouching next to him, “how many users do we have left?” He felt sick asking it that way, asking for nothing but numbers and never concerned with names. At this point, though, the lives of his citizens were on the precipice. He couldn’t afford to give into sentiment.

“Users? Well, we’ve got that Blackguard there,” Josak pointed at Klara. "But experts? Maybe twelve, Lord Voltaire and Bielefeld aside."

Yuuri turned to look at Klara in surprise. He thought Conrad only took in half Mazoku half humans like himself, with no _maryoku_ to speak of. He had never seen the Blackguards training with magic, and—well, actually, he had never really seen the Blackguards train.

“It’s true, Your Majesty,” Klara said. “I contract with water, as well.”

Yuuri’s eyes widened. How had that passed by him? He wasn’t sure he had ever met another water contractor. One that used his or her  _maryoku_ in front of him, anyway.

“Then you… did you help me earlier?” He asked. It would make sense. He hadn’t used that much _maryoku_ in a long time. “But you’re—you’re not pure Mazoku, right?”

Klara shook her head, then finally took her hood off. Her brown hair was wet from the rain, regardless of the Blackguard cloak she had. She was pretty, with a small mouth and large, tilted eyes. Her bottom lip had a rather large scar that connected with her chin, marring her shocking symmetrical features. But Yuuri didn’t mind scars, and he didn’t think it took away from her attractiveness at all.

“I can’t wield as well with you around, Your Majesty. It… water seems to want to listen to you far more than I.”

Conrad nodded at her. “And she’s half, Your Majesty. It seems you opening the Portal has some delayed effects. She began wielding a few months ago.”

At that, the other two Blackguards removed their hoods. Diedrich, the older and taller of the two, had hair cut in nearly the same fashion as Conrad’s, albeit shorter on the sides. He had a scar running along his cheek, and Yuuri noticed fresh bruises on his chin and neck. The collars of the Blackguard uniform were high, so he could not see much else, but he was certain that there were more beneath. His nose was thick and crooked, no doubt from being broken many times. Franz was blond and young, slender in the face, but his eyes—they were steel colored, harsh. Yuuri was reminded that these people were the sole remains of an elite killing group that had been trained to do what was necessary, no matter how messy. Likely they had killed for Yuuri on multiple occasions without him knowing it, without him ever aware of or seeing the assassins that had no doubt been sent for him in the night. _And one of them wields water._

“You’ll have to show me some time, Klara,” he said. She nodded at him, her eyes careful as they flitted between the Maoh and her Commander. She knew the Maoh had the last say on anything she might do, but she had been trained to jump when the Commander said jump. It was not easy to be in the vicinity of both of them.

The Maoh looked back up at the Commander. “Conrad, can you…?”

The man shook his head. “No. I’ve tried each element, but no luck. The skill seems limited to a select few.”

Klara couldn’t hear any regret in the man’s voice, but she figured he _had_ to feel something akin to jealousy. She’d heard of his struggles as a halfbreed, of his pains in court, of the issues surrounding his status with Yuuri. Wielding _maryoku_ would have made his life a hell of lot easier. If she could, she would have passed the trait to her Commander in a heartbeat. She at least owed him that.

The Maoh’s face fell for a moment, but went stern again before the emotion could truly be read. The implications it held for both of them, the unfairness of the situation… she imagined it would be exceedingly frustrating.

“Regardless, we’ll have to test people for the gift, right? Did we start yet?”

Conrad shook his head. “Only the soldiers, Your Majesty. We can test civilians when we reach camp.”

Yuuri nodded solemnly. Civilians would be drafted, if necessary. He didn't like it, but he wasn't about to have more of his people killed. If they'd lost Bloodpledge, then they'd lost it. They would rebuild, if they could. They would have to make do with what they could scrounge together.

 

* * *

 

 

The camp came within reach as the last tendrils of sun dipped beneath the horizon. Off the river, some two hundred yards away, tents had been propped up as an impromptu guard’s quarters. Their boats were met at a makeshift dock, with Royal Guards taking the ropes and tying them to wooden slots. The Blackguards were off the boat immediately, their swords and bows strapped to their lithe, trained bodies. They reacted to unspoken commands and aided the Royal Family out of the boats, but left Yuuri to Conrad.

Conrad seemed to hesitate, and Yuuri could tell he was thinking of carrying him into camp. Like _hell_ was he going to look sixteen again. Not with his people dying left and right.

Conrad must have caught his mood, because he offered his hand instead. Yuuri took it gratefully, but not without noticing the lack of a ring on Conrad’s fingers. They had never really been able to solidify anything before the Twice Dark turned things bloody. He would not dwell on that now.

He grasped his lover’s hand, noticed that it was strong as ever, and allowed himself to be lifted out of the boat. His arms still felt like fire, but the cool rain falling on him made it decidedly better. He just hoped being struck with lightning didn’t make you more susceptible to being struck again.

Conrad let go of his hand as the party walked up the bend and towards camp. Royal Guards were walking along the perimeter, and Yuuri could see that the camp was far bigger than he thought it would be. Tents sprawled out like a miniature city, with lamps lifted on poles along makeshift dirt roads. People were scurrying left and right about camp business, but in all honesty, it looked almost like home.

“This,” Josak said behind him, “is what they’re calling Little Makoku.”

A small compound of tents toward the middle of camp were slightly larger than the rest, and lit from the inside. Even from this far away, Yuuri knew that those were the Royal Family’s living quarters. It seemed a sad mimicry of the castle, but the surrounding tents made it feel more like permanent buildings. Regardless of the loss, he felt at peace with how many people they had managed to get out of the city over the last couple of months. There must have been twenty thousand people here. They had transformed what used to be an empty, woody meadow between two rivers into a makeshift town. In the distance, military barracks had been set up, the long line of horses a sure sign that soldiers slept there. Beyond that, they had even built a shoddy baseball field. To pass the time, no doubt.

The party traveled further into the settlement, past the hundreds upon hundreds of the same drab tents. Some of them were owned by civilians, as evident by the small welcome mats and rugs hanging outside. The people had brought what they could, and warm decorations could serve as a soft reminder of home. No doubt their true houses were being burned at the moment.

Yuuri kept close to Conrad as they walked, the three Blackguards behind them. Among them smells of fires and roasting meat mingled with the stench of bodies and rain. They passed an alley filled with children playing a game with marbles and nets, and further along women were trading goods from their baskets. As they passed, people turned and bowed their heads indiscriminately. Yuuri could hear a few hushed versions of _Your Majesty_ and _Royal Maoh_ , but no one seemed willing to bring glaring attention to his entourage as they made their way through the encampment. No doubt they’d been trained to keep attention away from him.

As they continued, a small group of soldiers on horseback approached them, a group of people behind. Yuuri recognized Günter’s stature before the man rushed through the line of horses and over towards Conrad and Yuuri. His silver hair, which had been so long, had been cut nearly eight inches shorter. The remainders of his hair was wrapped up in a ponytail. As shocking as the new hair was, the sword at his hip was far more surprising. Yuuri couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Günter really use it, despite the fact that he was wickedly talented with the blade.

“Your Majesty,” he uttered. He did not rush Yuuri as he normally would, but the quivering in his voice made it apparent that it was difficult not to. He stopped to touch a hand to Conrad’s shoulder, then nodded to the rest of the family. Behind Günter stepped out Anissina, her red hair left hanging at her shoulders. She said nothing, but Yuuri was glad to see her all the same. Günter finally made it to face Yuuri, his face strikingly serious. 

“We will take your family to their tents, but we must call a Council soon, now that you’re here—“

“We’ll do it now,” Yuuri said. “We can’t wait anymore.”

Günter nodded quickly, called for a young soldier to rally the Council, and waved his hand. Soldiers were moving suddenly, lifting sacks from his family’s shoulders and hustling them further into the town.

The further they went, the more crowded it became. Closer to the Royal Family quarters, Yuuri could see that tents with wooden infrastructures had been built for more stable living accommodations. Here the lamps were infused with _maryoku_ , giving off a cleaner light than the flames at the entrance of the town. Foot traffic increased, as well; the dirt path here had been packed down so tightly that it easily supported carts and horses passing through.

His family slowly veered off into their respective tents, and the party dwindled. When they finally reached the tent that would likely serve as Yuuri's quarters, all that was left of the once large group was Yuuri, Conrad, Günter, and Gwendal. The three Blackguards stood off to the back, keeping their eyes on their surroundings.

The tent in front of them sported richer fabric, with a single red swatch of cloth hanging as the entrance. Expensive lamps were struck into the earth on either side of the entrance, and a small entourage of guards protecting the tent flap indicated that this space was of importance. If that wasn't indication enough, the tent was nearly twice as large as the others. There would likely be a receiving area, with Yuuri's private quarters behind that.

Yuuri walked past them all without hesitating. He lifted the flap and entered, noting the long, cherry wood table that would serve as his meeting table. _So much better than the damned council chair at home._

Seated at the table already was Waltorana Bielefeld, his harsh green eyes steadily watching Yuuri as he walked in. He stood as Yuuri reached the table, as was expected of him, but he did little else. His bow might have been an involuntary twitch for all Yuuri knew.

“Your Majesty. It pleases me to hear your family remains unharmed.”

Yuuri nodded his thanks, and quickly waved his hand, asking the others to sit. He made to turn to Conrad, who would normally sit at his right, but…

The man stood stoically by the entrance. Waltorana’s eyes followed Yuuri’s gaze and found the man standing there, still in his consort-blacks, and his eyes tightened. A halfbreed, wearing _black_ , in the midst of such a war—

Yuuri had nearly forgotten the ridiculousness of the man’s penchant for traditions, and it had slipped his mind entirely that Conrad would not be welcome at the table. Regardless, his status as Commander dictated that he be present as protection, but it irked Waltorana all the same. He had voiced his opinion a number of times since the consort declaration, and had made it all too clear his intense hatred for anything human. Yuuri would have to watch him carefully as the night went on.

Gwendal took the space to Yuuri’s right instead, and he let out a sigh of relief. The much-coveted spot had been his for years before Conrad became consort, and it was much better than anyone else taking it. He silently thanked Gwendal for diffusing the situation.

The rest of them sat, and just when Yuuri was about to inquire about the other Council members’ locations, Adalbert von Grantz strode in.

He hadn’t aged a day to Yuuri, and the man still brought a smile to his face. Over the years he had wondered if it was simply Julia’s memories that made him feel fondness for the man, but he decided that it was just the man himself. He was a thorn among roses in the Council, true, but he was a good man and he spoke his mind. It pleased him immensely to see him and Conrad comfortable with each other. That had taken _years_.

Adalbert stopped short at Conrad’s form, but the two reached out hands quickly and shook them, only once. “Conrart,” he grunted, a slight grin to his face. Though the two were something resembling friends now, Yuuri still caught the disquieted glance Adalbert gave to Conrad’s clothes. His lips tightened at the corners, and he dropped his hand back to his side. He would get along with Conrad now, but the loss he’d endured remained the same. Yuuri was not Julia; he’d come to realize that. But it still felt as if Conrad had received something that wasn’t his due.

Conrad returned the grin and nodded, not daring to speak while the Council was present. _Another ridiculous rule,_ Yuuri thought.

Adalbert strode the rest of the way in, his tan cloak billowing behind him, his blonde hair a wet mess from the rain. He finally locked eyes with Yuuri, seemed to relax, and took his seat next to Waltorana. He’d probably be irked about that, too.

“No one else is coming; the bastards are taking their sweet time getting to camp, or Little Makoku, whatever it’s called. What the hell happened to your hand?”

Yuuri stifled a grimace. He’d forgotten how crass Adalbert could be.

“An attack,” he said, lifting his hand. He attempted to wiggle his fingers to show he was alright, then remembered he couldn't really feel them. It would take awhile to be able to move his hand completely again. “I’m fine, though.”

Adalbert scoffed, looked like he was about to slam his feet on the table, then thought better of it.

“As graceful as ever, von Grantz,” Gwendal intoned. Another stickler for propriety.

“Why not?” Waltorana asked. “We’re already throwing tradition to the wind.” His glance at Conrad made it abundantly clear what he meant.

Gwendal appeared to be willing to rise to the bait, and Yuuri felt angry blood rush to his face. But he raised his palm, and just like that, they all relaxed in their seats, glaring at one another. The Council, despite being in the middle of a war, would never change.

Yuuri shot angry eyes at the both of them, but held a special reserve of anger for Waltorana. “Tradition is hardly my concern right now. People dying is. And von Bielefeld, you forget that your Maoh asks that Sir Weller wear the blacks. Watch your tongue.”

Waltorana had clearly been chastised, but his face failed to show it. He inclined his head in acknowledgement and added, “I simply fail to see the wisdom in including a halfbreed among your closest confidants in the midst of this… massacre of your people.”

It was a low blow, one that threw the burden of proof upon Yuuri. Luckily, Waltorana was the only Council member who held such adverse feelings for humans. He wouldn’t need to defend himself on that regard. But his blood still boiled at the pejorative, and the images of Conrad marching to Luttenberg rose in his mind—he bid them to stop, but the anger remained. Conrad, of course, remained emotionless.

“That would make Sir Weller an expert on the manner, I think. And seeing that so many of us are missing… Sir Weller, please. Take a seat across from me.”

This wasn’t the time to be pushing people’s buttons, and it definitely wasn’t the time to spit in tradition’s face and throw it aside. But _shit_ it felt good to see Waltorana’s face balloon at the prospect, the very sacrilege of the order.

As much as that face made it worth it, this would still cause concern even in those who supported him. Gwendal seemed to tighten his shoulders in response, but he said nothing. He would get a sharp reprimand later, but he could care less. He was tired, his people were burning, and they couldn’t let the whole Conrad thing go?

The man in question remained standing at the tent flap, uncertain what to do. Oh, he would listen to Yuuri—but that didn’t mean he needed to be happy about it. He’d never sat at the table with half the Council there. Only when Gwendal, Günter, and Adalbert had been there had he dared take his place to Yuuri’s right. This was different entirely.

He walked over, stiff, and took a seat across from Yuuri. He felt like a beacon in the blacks he wore.

Waltorana fumed silently, his eyes piercing from across the table. Adalbert seemed infinitely amused.

“Now,” Yuuri said, “we can get on with it. Play ball, as they say. Von Bielefeld, when can the rest of your army arrive?”

Waltorana had quickly composed his face, but his voice still shook with the affront.

“I have half of them here. Perhaps another week. The same goes for the Wincott and Karbelnikoff families.”

He snapped his mouth shut as soon as he finished speaking. Yuuri noted that the man had left out any respectful titles when speaking to him.

Yuuri nodded, and continued the meeting; he updated the members who had not heard of the increase in _maryoku_ wielding among humans, let alone half Mazoku half humans. He let Conrad explain the appearance of new contracts and wielders.

“Anyone can just pick up a contract and throw _maryoku_ around?” Adalbert asked. He seemed highly displeased at the idea.

“Not anyone,” Conrad explained. “It seems only a handful have been granted the gift. Nevertheless, testing begins tomorrow to find any potential wielders. We could use all the help we can get.”

Adalbert grunted for what seemed like the thousandth time. “Fine by me. I’ll test my soldiers, as well.”

“And mine,” Waltorana agreed. Yuuri nodded, feeling the meeting coming to a close. He was so _tired_ —political maneuvering, constantly on edge, war… Shit, he missed being sixteen. He missed _peace_.

“That should be a close, then. Anything else?”

Gwendal shifted in his seat, the most obvious thing he could do short of raising his hand.

“The Sage and I have heard rumors of portals opening up elsewhere. In fact, there’s been tales of one only fifty miles South of here. We haven’t sent scouts, but we should, Your Majesty.”

Yuuri’s stomach dropped, and he began rubbing at his temples. If there was more than one point of entry… he didn’t know what they could really do against the Twice Dark. There were literally billions of them on the other side.

“Send them,” he said, “and make it quick.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

The flap closed, and Yuuri collapsed onto the table. He hadn’t slept—truly slept—in weeks, and it was catching up to him. His hand throbbed in beat with his pulse, and he realized he had forgotten to ask Gisela to rewrap it. He’d have to deal with it later.

Conrad stood silently against the tent’s entrance, his figure so lean and dark against the candlelight that he looked like a mere shadow. Yuuri got up to meet him, only slightly wobbling on his feet when he stood. He walked over and laid a hand on Conrad’s arm, feeling the black fabric beneath his fingers. Conrad tensed, his eyes bright, but Yuuri only lifted both arms around Conrad’s chest and brought him close. The man didn’t tower over him as he used to, but he still had to bring him down in an embrace. It took a second, but then Conrad’s shoulders relaxed. His body loosened. Yuuri felt him take breath through his lungs, felt the sigh ripple through his body. He thought he felt a shiver, but he wasn’t going to say anything.

“Yuuri,” he said, and it was so much nicer to hear his own name now that they were alone. He had gotten used to the man’s stubborn resolve in calling him Your Majesty in front of the army, and it had been necessary in times of war. Yuuri was the Maoh first, as much as that pained him at times—he was Conrad’s lover second, despite the King’s protestations that he could be both equally. They both knew Conrad was a sword of the kingdom, however, and it was necessary to expend him as such. If it had been any other Maoh, it was likely that Conrad would have been killed years ago. But this was Yuuri, and he was selfish in this aspect of his life.

Yuuri bunched his hands in the fabric, or at least the hand he could move, and felt Conrad’s arms envelope him quickly. He was nearly crushed to the man’s chest, but he let him.

“That was a stupid thing to do,” Conrad finished.

Yuuri groaned into the fabric and flung back his head in exasperation.

“I don’t _care,_ Conrad. We barely escape with our lives and that—that blonde jackass wants to argue with me about this old stuff?” He waved a hand in between their two chests to emphasize the subject matter. “He should get used to you sitting there, anyway. It’s not like—"

He was going to say it wasn’t like they weren’t going to finish the ceremony between the two of them, to christen Conrad as his husband. But they’d need Shinnou for that, and he was miles away now. Bloodpledge was likely under flames and soot, anyway.

“He’s racist, and a bastard. Those clothes should keep him off of you, for Shinnou’s sake.”

“They don’t make me full Mazoku.”

“They shouldn’t _have_ to,” Yuuri exclaimed, exasperated. “This is why all of this is happening—this is…”

Yuuri shook his head, unsure of the words. He was too tired. Conrad took the opportunity to change the subject.

“Yuuri, I’m sorry for leaving you in that boat. I’m just glad I got to you in time. I was so—”

“You wouldn’t have had to get to me if you’d already been in the boat,” Yuuri quipped. He regretted it instantly. Conrad pulled back to look at his face, but kept his arms around Yuuri’s figure.

“You’re upset.”

“Of course I’m upset! You said you’d be leaving with me. That’s the only reason I left without throwing a fit.”

“The only reason?”

Yuuri hesitated. In reality, he would have left regardless, and he was aware of that. His family had been relying on him, waiting for the signal to escape. But…

“I’m serious, Conrad. Don’t do it again. If they killed you, I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t be Maoh. I’m protecting Shin Makoku by keeping you alive.”

He looked at the man with all the honesty he could, black eyes blazing. He would have to stop this conversation soon. Speaking this intimately about Conrad’s possible death—his mind wouldn’t take it without breaking down. He couldn’t afford to cry now. Blessedly, Conrad nodded at him. Perhaps this time, he wouldn’t go out and risk breaking his damned neck.

“Good,” Yuuri sighed.

He dropped his head to Conrad’s chest again, reveled in the warmth.

“I swear, sometimes I feel like I should just cuff you to me.”

“Cuff?”

“Handcuffs. Nevermind.” Shin Makoku didn’t have cops just yet, and it was hard to think that someday they might have some version of them.

Conrad’s chuckling rumbled in his chest, his hands coming to the back of Yuuri’s head to comfort him. “Well I’m here now,” he said, “and I’ll stay. I promise. I just needed to get you out. They would have killed you, Yuuri. Just to make a point.”

Yuuri nodded against his chest. In truth, Conrad had acted appropriately. He had done nothing wrong. He had done what others could not and had most likely kept other assassins from shooting Yuuri in the back. It didn’t mean he had to like it.

"Just sleep, Yuuri," Conrad said. "I'll be back later tonight."  
  
Yuuri was too tired to protest. He let Conrad slowly walk him to the back of the tent, the makeshift bed a blessing as he fell in it face-first. He mumbled to Conrad to call Gisela, barely remembering his hand.

He felt a pressure against his temple- _oh, he's kissing me_ \- before he blocked out the world and fell asleep. 


End file.
